


Heroic Outlaw (and Other Uninvited Guests)

by GoLBPodfics (GodOfLaundryBaskets), mute90



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, M/M, Minor Character(s), Podfic, Podfic Available, Podfic Cover Art, Podfic Length: 1-1.5 Hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-15 23:05:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18679126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodOfLaundryBaskets/pseuds/GoLBPodfics, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mute90/pseuds/mute90
Summary: Anakin Skywalker routinely escaped Imperial pursuit with all the flair that could be expected from The Hero With No Fear. The man was a legend, but Han Solo didn't need any legends on his ship. Of course, Skywalker didn't bother asking when he made the Millennium Falcon his latest means of escape.





	Heroic Outlaw (and Other Uninvited Guests)

 

 

  


 

 

### Details

  * **Length:** 1:28:29



### Hosting

 

  * **mp3:** [Heroic Outlaw.mp3 (125 MB)](https://archive.org/download/HeroicOutlawandOtherUninvitedGuests/Heroic%20Outlaw%20%28and%20Other%20Uninvited%20Guests%29.mp3)
  * **m4b:** [Heroic Outlaw.m4b (79 MB)](https://archive.org/download/HeroicOutlawandOtherUninvitedGuests/Heroic%20Outlaw%20%28and%20Other%20Uninvited%20Guests%29.m4b)



 

 

Han was being watched.

 

It had been going on for a few days, the guy right in the corner of his eye until the moment Han turned to meet him with a blaster and a smile. Then, he was gone like dust in the wind. He was quick, Han would give him that. He was just too damn obvious. Hiding out under a mask or hood wasn't original in the shadier parts of town, but the hiss of his breathing was like a death rattle. Even the drunk-happy stormtroopers gave him room.

 

The whole thing was making Han twitchy, sure he owed someone somewhere. It might have even been someone looking for Lando and just tracking the ship. Hells, the bastard might just hate the look of him. Guys had been killed for less in these parts.

 

Han tapped the bar until the bartender looked his way. “Tall and Dark with the death breath: who is he?”

 

The bartender continued silently wiping a dirty glass with a dirty rag because that was the kind of fine establishment Han always found himself in.

 

“Oh, come on. You know what I'm talking about.” He waggled a finger in the man’s face. “If that guy is planning something funny, you're gonna lose a loyal customer.”

 

The bartender just snorted.

 

“Fine.” Han tossed a few coins on the table. When the bartender reached forward, he clapped his hand over them. “I don’t think so. First, who is he?”

 

The bartender leaned against the bar, his eyes flicking around. “Calls himself Starkiller,” he said.

 

Nodding, Han didn’t move his hand. “Cute. What else?” The man’s eyes flicked around again. “I ain't paying for a name you could've pulled out of your ass. Give me something.”

 

“Killer for hire, I heard,” he said. “Works for Crimson Dawn.” He shoved Han’s hand out of the way and took the coin, disappearing around the bar and abandoning his dirty rag in front of Han.

 

Han groaned. “Great.”

 

He slipped from his barstool and out the door, hand lingering near his blaster. Crimson Dawn was just another criminal empire thriving in the druk that was their lovely galaxy. There were Imperials on one end and the Rebellion on the other. The Empire controlled the Core and didn’t give a crap about anyone inside of it, though the propaganda machine was still running and fooling those poor souls with true bantha brains. The Rebellion built bases on outer rim planets that routinely got blasted to hell and back. They said they cared but, with the way the outer rim had been a warzone going on two decades, residents on the outer rim were just as sick of them as the Imperials. In the middle of it all, profiting off the chaos, was every criminal Empire from Crimson Dawn to Black Sun to the damn Hutts. Now, in the most flattering way possible, Han liked to think of himself as beneath any of their notice. He was a damn good smuggler but not someone worth the money to knock off.

 

Seemed he was wrong.

 

The world he was on was a good place to both get lost and get dead, fog filling up the narrow pathways between tall and dull buildings and people passing each other with ducked heads and no eye contact. It was an Empire-controlled world, but the stormtroopers in the lower level could be found stumbling out of bars more than patrolling. The spaceport security was a little tighter and there checkpoints before landing, but Han had been good enough to stay off Imperial watchlists and Chewie laid low on planets with too many bucketheads. It wasn’t the kind of planet they needed to offload merchandise. It was just a meeting place, and Han had been waiting for his man to show up and give them a job. No luck.

 

Han slowed his pace when a small group of stormtroopers passed him. They jogged into their ship even as it slowly rose. He thought he saw one glance his way, but nobody stopped and Han shrugged off the paranoia.

 

The Falcon was open, which usually meant Chewie was working on something to keep it in one piece. His girl was amazing, but they usually pushed her past her limits.

 

“Chewie!” he called out as he entered the ship. “It’s time to go, buddy. Our guy is still silent, and I got a bad feeling about this supposed job.”

 

There was no answer.

 

“Chewie!” The inside of the ship was dark and silent. Han’s fingers curled around his blaster in it’s holster as he walked the corridor into the main hold. Then, coming suddenly from a silent hull, there was deep, heavy breathing that made Han shudder. Han spun toward the familiar sound and caught a figure detaching itself from the shadows.

 

Good old Starkiller was standing on his ship in his all black getup, breathing as loud as ever.

 

Han shot twice. With unbelievable speed, the guy’s arm flew up and the blasts deflected a foot from his gloved hand and hit the ship.

 

There was another moment of shocked silence - fearful, if Han was being honest with himself, which he damn sure was not.

 

“Your weapon is useless against me, Captain Solo,” Starkiller said. He spoke like a droid.

 

A horrible nauseous feeling began to grow in Han. Everyone knew what freaky powers meant in a galaxy where Jedi fugitives spent over a decade spreading rebellion or just plain old chaos on every planet they landed after the Purge. A few popped up every Empire Day just to get publicly executed.

 

“You gotta be kidding.”

 

“Given up, have you?”

 

“Like hell.” Han shot him again. He thought he heard a snort but he shot anyway because damn if he was going down that easy. Again, the shots were deflected with waves of a hand but Han was moving forward with each pull and, when the guy finally got sick of waving away the blasts, Han wasn’t even surprised when the blaster was yanked out of his hand. Han was already yanking a knife out from behind his back. He lunged forward. The blade went straight for Starkiller’s gut. It nicked the skin before a hand caught Han’s wrist in a vicious grip. Starkiller spun, taking Han with him. One hand gripped his wrist and the other curled in his vest. Han hit the wall and there was a moment some of pain in his skull that was soon overtaken by pain in his arm as Starkiller, still holding his wrist, chose to _squeeze_.

 

Han cried out because that was not a normal hand in any way. It closed like a vice around his wrist and the knife slipped from his hand and clattered on the floor.

 

“Are you done fighting?” Starkiller - kriffing sithspawn - asked.

 

Han’s body went lax and his eyes closed as he took deep, unsteady breaths.

 

“You’re done?” was asked again and the guy sounded a little disappointed in him.

 

Well, Han just hated to disappoint.

 

He kicked and Starkiller stumbled back. There was no fall though and no indication of pain but, again, the guy just let him keep going. Well, if Han was getting the chance, he picked his knife back up. They circled each other, Han hunched and careful, the knife held tightly. Starkiller circled like he was stalking prey, no weapon in hand but still dangerous. He could’ve yanked that knife right out of his hand, Han knew.

 

He didn’t.

 

Han’s mind shot through ugly deaths, escape plans, and his one friend in the whole damn galaxy. The fight had been short but loud enough that if anyone else was in the ship, they would've come.

 

“So - Starkiller, right? - you haven’t seen my buddy Chewie around, have you? Big guy. Very hairy. Would’ve tried ripping your arms off the second you stepped on this ship. You couldn’t miss him.”

 

“I saw him.”

 

That was it? Han narrowed his eyes and glanced around. There was no body in that part of the ship and Starkiller didn’t even have a dent in that mask of his. Chewie would’ve put a dent, freaky mind powers or not.

 

Starkiller seemed to stalk a little slower. “He’s not dead,” he offered. “I didn’t touch him.”

 

“He was on this ship.” Han waved the hand with the knife around. “Now he’s not. Explain that.”

 

He chuckled. “Or what? What are you going to do, Solo?”

 

“Stop screwing around,” Han growled. “You wanna kill me. Fine. You’ll try, I guess. Chewie’s got nothing to do with it.”

 

Starkiller shook his head. “No, he doesn’t. I was just curious. I wanted to know if you’d think about him, if you’d fight, if you’d run without even asking where he went.” He stopped his stalking and Han stopped himself, tensing. “Things like that will tell you a lot about a person.”

 

“Well, I’m asking.”

 

Starkiller shrugged, the movement casual and dismissive. It was an odd look with his mask and leather. “He was picked up by Imperial forces. I believe you saw them leave.”

 

Han thought back to those damn troopers and cursed.

 

“Relax, Solo. That ship can be...redirected.”

 

“What in the nine hells are you talking about?”

 

Starkiller reached out and, finally, the knife was wrenched from his hand. Han moved. In what direction he moved didn’t even matter though. He didn’t make it an inch. Instead, he flew back into the wall, the slam a little softer than when he’d been planted there last time but the hold was firm. From head to toe, he was plastered to the ship with Starkiller still standing a good 10 feet from him.

 

Han tried shoving against the invisible force. There was no give. Starkiller moved closer. Han spit out his best curses and prepared to die a truly cantankerous bastard.

 

Starkiller shook his head. “I don’t want you dead, Solo.” The guy reached up and pulled off the dark helmet. There was a human under there. There was blue eyes and light hair and a scar through his brow and down past his eye. It was definitely a much nicer image than that damn mask, but it was also horribly familiar.

 

It was the face of the most wanted man in the Empire’s long list of wanted men.

 

“Ah, no, no, no.”

 

Anakin kriffing Skywalker smirked at him. “I get that reaction a lot.” Without the helmet, his voice was both softer and more aggravating. He tossed the helmet aside like so much junk. “Here’s the deal: I loaded some valuable cargo on this ship. You have valuable cargo on an Imperial shuttle. If you fly me and what I have off this planet and to somewhere I choose, I will make sure that your partner is redirected somewhere more friendly than a prison planet. What do you think?”

 

“You son of a - !”

 

“Is that a no?” he interrupted.

“You set him up!”

 

Skywalker rolled his eyes. “He was already being watched. Wookies don’t have a lot of friends on Empire-controlled planets. I just made sure my men picked him up.”

 

“Excuse me for thinking you’re full of - .”

 

Skywalker interrupted again and the inability to get to the real meat of his insults was bugging Han almost as much as being pinned to the damn wall. “Yes or no, Solo. Our signal to leave is coming any minute. If you’re not interested in saving your friend, I can always just steal your ship.”

 

He tilted his head back and forth in a stretch and rolled his shoulders.

 

Han blew out a frustrated breath. There were Imperial troopers and Rebel fools, but Anakin Skywalker was the biggest pain in the ass to the pilots of the galaxy - at least the pilots who were in Han’s particular line of work. The Jedi was a damn legend for how many ships he’d ‘borrowed’, how many times he’d stowed away, and just how often he managed to escape Imperial pursuit. In the outer rim where surviving on your wits and dodging Imperial patrols was a way of life, there was a hate and grudging respect for the old war hero, though Han was leading toward hate at the moment.

 

“Why didn’t you just steal the ship to start with?” Han asked. It would’ve been a huge blow to lose his baby, but it would’ve been easier for Skywalker - Starkiller.

 

“I try to be nice about this - usually.”

 

There was a loud sound, an explosion a ways off but big enough that the sound probably traveled through the entire city. “And you blew up their base,” Han said. “Of course you did.”

 

“That’s the signal,” said Skywalker. “And you’re out of time.”

 

Han began to slide rapidly along the wall toward the exit, about to be ejected from a ship he’d only had for a few precious years. “Hey, hey, hey! Fine! Yes!” He abruptly dropped from the wall. His legs slid out from under him and he landed on his ass.

 

Skywalker hunched down on the floor next to him. He cocked his head. “If you’re too disoriented, I can fly.”

 

Han shoved him hard as he got up and made for the front of the ship. “Like hell you’ll fly my ship.”

 

Skywalker followed him and settled in the copilot’s seat like he had any damn right. From the front, Han could see outside. There was smoke rising toward the sky and ships coming down from their checkpoint above-planet. “Why did it have to be this planet?” he asked as he prepared the ship. “Not that I care, but it’s nowhere. The base is a drukhole.”

 

Skywalker drummed his fingers on his lap. “That’s what they want you to think.”

 

Han rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I don’t care. Chewie just better be alright.”

 

“He will be. You should know I keep my word,” he said, almost defensive.

 

That was true enough, Han knew. Skywalker kept his word. ‘Course, sometimes he was promising to toss someone out of their own ship while they were already thousands of feet in the air. It had happened before, Han knew. It was some two-credit pirate. After his fall, the crew had abruptly ceded the ship to Skywalker until the next inevitable mutiny. Skywalker hadn’t stayed on the ship long, but he’d made his point: he was as ruthless as he needed to be. He meant whatever he said, the good and bad. It scared the kriffing hell out of some.

 

Han used to think it was an awesome story.

 

“Yeah, you got a reputation,” Han allowed. “It ain’t exactly a good one, but what the hell: it’s honest.”

 

The Millenium Falcon rose into the air. The explosion was distracting but the Empire wouldn’t abandon the checkpoint completely no matter how low they were on resources. There was also no way they’d let any ship pass after a base blew up and Han doubted Skywalker’s cargo would pass inspection, whatever it was. That meant he’d have to blow right through them. “If I die, I’m going to kill you,” he muttered.

 

“That’ll be a good trick.”

 

“Shut up and tell me what planet?”

 

“I’ve already put in the calculation for the hyperspace jump.”

 

Han hand tightened on the lever. “Right. Of course you screwed with my ship. You know, you can’t just touch someone’s ship. Every real pilot knows that.”

 

“That only matters if the owner of the ship is a real pilot. You haven’t proved that yet. ”

 

“Not a real pilot?!” Han yelled.

 

Skywalker smiled with his teeth bared. “I guess we’ll find out soon.”

 

There were ships up ahead of them and they tried hailing Han as soon as they spotted him. He ignored them. They were two Imperial ships, small but outfitted with enough weapons to make trouble. Their first shot was aiming to disable but he pulled up at the last minute and the shots soared under the ship. The Empire’s lack of patience showed through when the next shots were clearly meant to just shoot them out of the sky.

 

Han dodged those too. Skywalker tapped the scanners, “There’s another ship coming from  planetside.” Han smacked his hand away from the screen. He offered, “You need me on the guns?”

 

“I can handle it.”

 

“You’re not gonna prove anything if we get killed right now.”

 

Han twisted, looking for an opening. If they could get past those two ships and get into hyperspace, they wouldn’t have to worry about any ships coming from planetside. “Let’s get one thing straight right now: there is no ‘we’ here. There’s me and my ship and neither one of us is gonna get blown up by some two-bit Imperials.”

 

There was a hit on the deflector shields and the ship shuddered.

 

“You sure about that?”

 

“You got a real problem shutting up, don't you?”

 

The Imperial ships were too close together, spreading their shots in parallel lines that were fairly easy to dodge. “That's it.” Han really was going to have to blow through. If he did it fast enough, they wouldn't be able to adjust.

 

With a twist he put the ship on it's side and shot forward.

 

“Yes!” The ships shifted and tried to adjust. Two more shots glanced off the shields. There was a bark of laughter next to him and Skywalker, watching the scanners and the planetside pursuer, crowed, “These stuppa Imperials accidentally fired on one of their own ships. Ha!”

 

Han shifted into hyperspace. When he could see the shift, he finally relaxed.

 

“You know,” said Skywalker. He leaned closer to the controls and then pulled back as Han flapped a hand in his direction. “I heard this ship was fast, but that was impressive. Speed. Responsiveness. The engine was modified, wasn’t it?”

 

Han thought about biting his tongue to stop himself from responding, but he couldn’t just ignore a compliment toward his girl. It wasn’t right. “That’s right. Engine and hyperdrive. My baby is the fastest thing out here,” Han said, proud.

 

“And nice flying, too.”

 

Which reminded Han… “Oh, am I a pilot now? That’s sweet.” He examined the screens, their destination. “Naboo? We’re going to Naboo? Do you know the kind of security that planet has.”

 

“Trust me. I have friends in high places, especially on Naboo.” When Han looked doubtful, he added, “Your friend will be there. They’ll offload him when they can.”

 

“If you’re such good friends with the bucketheads, why didn’t you hitch a ride with them?”

 

“Couldn’t take my cargo.”

 

“Right. Your precious cargo.” Han stood to check on that. “Where even is this damn cargo?”

 

“Crew quarters. I told them to get comfortable while we talked.”

 

Han’s voice rose. “Them? As in people? There are other people on my ship?!”

 

“Yup.” Skywalker lazily flipped a blaster in his hands - Han’s kriffing blaster, the bastard - and jerked his head back toward the crew quarters. Han’s blaster disappeared into his jacket. “You wanna meet them?” Skywalker walked to crew quarters and Han moved after him, picking up speed until he passed him. He knew where his own damn crew quarters were. He had other weapons in there too. Blasters, knives, and vibroblades could be found a number of places on him and throughout the Falcon. Unfortunately, beating the hell out of Skywalker would have to wait until he got Chewie back. He didn’t think he’d be satisfied until he shot the guy in the leg at least.

 

Han shoved the door of the crew quarters open, took two quick steps in, and froze. The crew quarters had three kids leaning against each other on one bed. Two were human, maybe fourteen or fifteen standard years. The oldest held a weequay in his lap that couldn’t have been more than five. The other, a skinny redheaded girl, had her arms crossed and face set in an unpleasant expression. None of them had moved away when Han burst in. Their heads had just swiveled to the door and they were watching him with focused, wary attention.

 

Skywalker showed up behind his left shoulder.

 

Han looked for some words for this and settled on, “They were in the base?”

 

Skywalker nodded. “Mary, Meesk, and Ugo are force-sensitive.” He gestured to each of them as he talked. Mary, the unhappy little redhead, narrowed her eyes when Han focused on her. The boy, Meesk, nodded his head in a quick greeting. Ugo - boy or girl, Han couldn’t tell - shifted a bit at the name. “The Emperor likes to...collect them. There was a processing facility under the base.”

 

Of course there was. A base just couldn’t be a base in their galaxy. It had to have kidnapped kids stashed underneath.

 

Skywalker moved around him to speak to the oldest human boy. He spoke sternly in a language Han didn’t know. The girl beside him growled low in her throat, but the boy patted her leg and she switched to glaring at him.

 

Han closed his eyes and counted to five. When he opened them, three kids and Skywalker were still there.

 

“Hey. Hero,” Han said. Skywalker looked up with a raised eyebrow. “We need to talk.”

 

“Of course, Captain,” Skywalker said . He even nodded agreeably and like he didn’t slam Han into a couple of walls and wasn’t using Chewie as leverage. Han had heard a lot about Skywalker, but nobody quite captured how aggravating he was.

 

Mary mocked, “He gives you orders, huh?”

 

“It’s my ship, kid,” Han snapped before Skywalker could say whatever he was going to say. “Yes, I do give the orders. Remember that.”

 

Skywalker actually smiled as he walked out of the room.

 

Han turned on him outside of it. “Get that stupa look off your face. This _is_ my ship.”

 

“I never said it wasn’t.”

 

“You’re getting off of it the second we drop off those brats and I get Chewie.”

 

“That was the deal.”

 

“You know, you’re real agreeable for a guy who attacked me not that long ago.”

 

Skywalker laughed. “You shot first, remember? I just wanted to talk.”

 

“Yeah, you’re real innocent.” Han tried to think of what else he could say to make it clear that Skywalker was not welcome, but his mind drifted to three strange kids and ‘precious cargo.’

 

‘Don’t ask,’ he thought. ‘Just don’t ask.’

 

The words burst out of Han’s mouth anyway. “So, we’re taking kids kidnapped by the Empire to another planet controlled by the Empire. How does that make sense? And why do they look unhappy about it?”

 

“I have contacts on Naboo that can deal with it. I may hate the Empire, but it’s got stable transportation.”

 

“You mean you got contacts that can get them off-planet discreetly.” Han nodded. “You wouldn’t trust me to know their final destination.”

 

“Not yet.”

 

Han threw his hands up. “Then why  am I here? Don’t you people have Rebel pilots to handle this?”

 

“This isn’t a sanctioned Rebel mission. Too risky. No benefits.” He scratched the back of his head. “I’m also not really part of the Rebellion. Associated maybe.”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Han said, “You should tell the holonet that. According to them, you’re the biggest, baddest Rebel out there. And why wouldn’t the Rebels want these kids? Force-sensitive means they got those freaky mind powers, right? Seems handy.”

 

Skywalker looked slightly bitter. “They’re too old.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head left and right in a stretch. “No, no, not just too old,” he corrected. He didn’t look so bitter after the stretch. Huh. “They’ve been under Imperial control for a while, a couple of years for the older ones. I may have convinced them to leave with me, but taking them to the Rebellion is risky. The Jedi know that, and they don’t want them.”

 

“...and that’s why the brat squad is unhappy,” Han concluded. “You brought three Empire-trained kids onto my ship. That’s just great.”

 

“Force-sensitive kids are disappearing more and more,” Skywalker snapped. He threw a hand at the door. “These are the first ones that could be located, that could be saved. Sure, they can’t go to the Rebellion, but something had to be done.” His voice got more passionate as he talked, and Han got the feeling he was quoting some old argument he head before.

 

Han groaned. He had a bonafide hero on board, didn’t he?

 

Skywalker just kept talking, looking more and more like he should stretch again and calm down. “It looks like Sidious abandoned the Rule of Two after I killed off his last two apprentices. He’s creating an army, captain. I can _feel_ it.”

 

Han put up a hand. “I only understood half of what you just said, but you know what? It ain’t my problem.”

 

“If you say so.” Skywalker handed him his blaster. “Just keep this with you.” He stretch again just like Han predicted.

 

\---

 

Han only had to deal with his uninvited guests for six hours, he consoled himself. Six hours and he get could get Chewie and get back to his life. Of course, six hours was a long time in hyperspace with someone who was driving you crazy. Because Skywalker couldn’t just sit still and be ignored.

 

The man tried, he’d give him that much. It didn’t last long.

 

He got that damn mask up off the floor and set it on the table. He was then up and moving, walking around the main hold for a bit and then checking on the kids. He came back trailing his fingers along the bulkhead, rolled his shoulders, and went back to pacing. He walked into the cockpit and his fingers were pressed tight to his legs like he was forcing himself not to touch. With a thorough look over the controls, which Han watched with narrowed eyes, he went back to see the kids. When he took too long, Han followed him and found him in the engine room, his finger poking at a -.

 

Han smacked his arm away. “No.”

 

“I could - .”

 

“It’s always gonna be no, Hero.”

 

“In that case, can I _not_ \- .”

 

“Don’t get clever. Just get back to the main hold.”

 

“It’s _boring_ there.”

 

Han stared. That right there was a full-on whine from the war hero with what Han was sure was a few grey hairs in his ridiculous mop. “You do realize I don’t care?”

 

Skywalker looked around a little desperately. “What about a game of sabacc?”

 

“Again, no.”  


Of course, Han himself was ready to go crazy within an hour of watching the guy to make sure he didn’t wander off again - unless it was straight off his ship and into the void. Skywalker paced the main hold, sat and tapped the table, paced again, and tried playing sabacc with himself. It was pathetic and a little amusing and Han would have left it to him as a type of torture if it wasn’t torturing Han too. When Skywalker ripped off his glove and made like he was gonna start fiddling with a mechno arm, Han groaned out loud. “Oh, come on!”

 

Skywalker looked up at him, hopefully. “Sabacc?”

 

In all honesty, Han was bored too, the only amusement being watching Skywalker slowly lose his mind. “What the hell. Sure thing, Hero. Let’s play sabacc.”

 

“Hero, huh?” His grin was cocky.

 

“That’s your nickname, ain't it?” Han took the deck from him. He had the feeling Skywalker was the cheating type. So was Han, but that wasn’t the point. He mocked, “Hero with No Fear. That’s what the holonet called you.”

 

Skywalker’s grin melted a bit at that reminder, but he shot back, “You’re old enough to remember the reports during the Clone Wars? That’s a surprise. From what I heard about you, I thought you were younger - a lot younger.”

 

Han dealt the cards. “I age well.”

 

Skywalker looked him over and said charmingly, “On the outside. Yeah, you do.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips like he was in a holoporno and he raised his eyebrows in suggestion.

 

Han leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. Skywalker leaned just a bit away from him but held his vague smile. Han clucked his tongue. “Don’t play a game you can't win, Hero.” He thought about the statement and frowned. “And what do you mean ‘on the outside’?”

 

Not so charming, after all.

 

Skywalker smiled wider, his eyes losing that vague pleasantness he’d been relying on a minute before. “Calm down. From what I’ve heard, you’ve got it where it counts.”

 

Strangely, that did not sound suggestive. In fact, it sounded like the most sincere thing he’d said since complimenting the Falcon.

 

Han leaned back and finished dealing. “I got it in Sabaac, I’ll tell you that. And what do you want me to call you anyway: Starkiller?”

 

“Works for me.” Skywalker patted the helmet still sitting on the table. Han examined that for the first time without worry. The eyes were overly large. The face grill would have gone from his nose to his chin, obscuring the shape of his face. There was some kind of technology in there that messed with his voice and the breathing was obviously for effect.

 

“What’s with the mask?” he asked.

 

“It’s my disguise..”

 

Han pointed at the creepy thing. “This? This is your idea of a disguise?” It would work to hide his distinctive features but it was a horrible way to blend in. “They can just follow your breathing through a crowded room,” he pointed out.

 

“But they never want to and the few that are brave enough to try…” he trailed off, expression twisting into something satisfied and ruthless.

 

They never caught that expression on the holonet, Han knew. He’d seen a lot of coverage of Skywalker during the Clone Wars. He was the Republic’s favorite son. Everyone talked about him. The kids drew fake scars over their eye and fought with long sticks. Others grew their hair out too long because he was a damn celebrity with shaggy hair - still was. Han was never a normal kid, but even kids like him tried to catch the news from the front. The general was daring on land and in space. No fear. They all could’ve done with less fear.

 

Then, the emperor took over. Officially, he became the Empire’s greatest enemy.

 

Officially.

 

Unofficially, the worship of Anakin Skywalker only quieted, got more cautious. People cut their damn hair. The love for him didn’t die out altogether though. Some things just stayed shiny even when the galaxy was covered in grime.

 

Even when everything said Skywalker became more outlaw than anything else.

 

Han took a good long look at his cards before speaking again. “I used to watch you, you know. Everyone did. General Skywalker. The things you were doing weren't changing my life but what kid doesn't like some famous hotshot pilot.” Thinking back to those days was getting odder each time he did it. His past felt like it was in another galaxy. “Wasn't sure those Jedi powers were real, but I knew you could fly.”

 

Skywalker huffed. “Course I could fly. I used to think as long as you could fly, you were free.”

 

Han huffed. “Yeah? What about now?”

 

Skywalker stayed quiet for a long time, long enough that Han thought maybe their little talk was over. Instead, he said, “What’s the use of being free if you’re flying solo?”

 

Han slammed his cards down - a bit dramatically, if he was honest. “You didn’t just say that.”

 

Skywalker smirked. “I did.”

 

“You’re punning. You’re punning on my ship.”

 

“Is that not allowed, Solo?”

 

“I ain't flying solo anyway,” Han argued. “I got Chewie. What do you got?” Han picked up his cards again. Skywalker didn't answer or grin like a fool. Han refused to feel guilt about that. Refused. But then he found himself muttering… “Well, you got the three brats for now. One happy family with freaky brain powers.”

 

“Why do you keep calling it that? It's called the Force,” Skywalker said, irritated. “‘Freaky brain powers’ makes it sound like a story. We're not a story. This,” he raised a hand and five cards floated up from the deck, came to eye-height, and then began to rotate slowly, “This is real. So many of us died for having this. Kids all over the galaxy are killed, kidnapped, and enslaved for this. It’s real.”

 

Han sucked in a breath. Of course he knew it was real. As soon as Jedi ran from the core and formed rebellious sects throughout the galaxy, nobody could really doubt they were around and doing some weird druk. His fight with Skywalker nailed the point in for him if there was even a little doubt left. Still, seeing it happen in a calm moment with good lighting was something else.

 

He waved a hand under the cards and over them. He flicked one and watched it flutter in the air but continue its rotation.

 

“The force, huh? You can lift things with it?”

 

“Lift, throw, and catch. Heal. Fight. Kill. Control.” The cards spun faster. Skywalker was watching them, entranced. “The Force is capable of so many things. It can even create life.”

 

The cards increased speed, viciously cutting through the air. Han could just imagine them flying free and digging into his face.

 

“Uh huh. I still say it's freaky.”

 

Skywalker was still lost in the cards whipping through the air. “It can't stop death,” he murmured, disappointed.

 

“Good,” Han said.

 

The cards stopped. Skywalker cocked his head.

 

Han leaned forward again, met the man’s eyes, and said, “It means you still got something in common with the rest of us lowly mortals.”

 

Anakin nodded thoughtfully. “Death makes us all equal?”

 

“In this galaxy, something ought to.” Han plucked the cards out of the air. “Now, I thought we were playing sabacc.”

 

Skywalker closed his eyes, just breathing for a moment, and then picked up the cards. “If I had learned that lesson from the beginning…” he murmured.

 

Han wondered who died but, even knowing the little he knew about the Jedi and the war, he suspected the answer was a whole hell of a lot of people. “You tried to stop death, huh?” he asked, quietly.

 

“I tried to save my wife,” Skywalker answered just as quietly but also hushed. He said the word wife reverently. “She was on a medical station a few weeks after the Republic fell. The stormtroopers and the star destroyers came. The med droids told me she was in critical condition and couldn't be moved. So, I jumped in my fighter and tried to lead them away.”

 

Han could imagine how the rest of it played out. “They didn't take the bait.”

 

“No.” He took a deep breath. “And the next five years of my life were a blur. I could fight a million battles but death? You always lose to death.”

 

“Well, if you’re here bugging me, you dealt with it.”

 

Skywalker smiled again. No, really, Skywalker smiled for the first time. There was nothing theatric in it. He barely showed teeth. The lines on his face softened and his eyes sparkled. “I met a princess who asked me why I had to be so mad all the time.”

 

Han caught his own face softening as well and put a stop to it. He tapped the edge of his cards on the table. “Good thing you got it together. Sill wish you took a different ship.”

 

Skywalker’s smile widened again, but his eyes stayed sparkling. That expression had definitely been on the Holonet before. It was half the reason the galaxy fell in love with him. “Then I wouldn’t have gotten to meet you, Captain.”

 

Han cleared his throat. “Cute. I could’ve done without.” They had a game of sabacc to play - that Han was going to win. Anakin chuckled suddenly, still staring at Han in challenge but looking amused.

 

Han frowned. “Wait a minute. Can you people read minds?”

 

Face far too innocent, his opponent answered, “No.” He was openly and obviously amused now. “By the way, are we betting on this?”

 

“I swear on my blaster, Skywalker,” the guy laughed fully, throwing his head back and falling against the back of the seat, relaxed, “if you can read minds, you better - .”

 

But Skywalker’s laughter suddenly stopped. He sat up straighter and gestured to the hall. Han heard the footsteps a moment later. Meesk came in. Ugo was holding his hand. The boy looked from Skywalker to Han and the deck of cards, vaguely amused. He’d heard the laughter, probably. He spoke to Skywalker in that unfamiliar language again.

 

“What’s he saying?” Han asked loudly.

 

“I think the captain prefers you speak Basic for him, Meesk,” said Skywalker. “You’d have to ask him anyway.”

 

“Ask me _what_?”

 

“Do you have any food?” the kid asked, in perfectly-pronounced Basic. He shook the hand holding onto the littlest kid. “Ugo’s hungry.”

 

Han looked at the weequay. He was starting to think she was a female. He sighed. “Yeah, I’m sure we got something.”

 

He got up to look. There was no kitchen on the thing, and he and Chewie hadn’t stocked up for a long trip. There was usually something to snack on though. He went for the crates in the far corner.

 

Behind him, he heard Anakin ask how things were and if Mary was hungry. Meesk continued to speak in Basic. He was polite, soft-spoken, but he was still amused for some reason. Han pulled out something that was food-like and heard Meesk behind him say, “Your friend is nice, Starkiller.”

 

Something about the tone made Han hover there by the crates, shifting through them without reason.

 

“Don’t insult the captain,” Skywalker said. It was sarcastic and, on the surface, light. There was a sharp edge to it though because his instincts had to be screaming the same thing Han’s was. “He’s giving us a ride after all.”

 

“I didn’t ask him to do that. You did.”

 

“But you did choose to leave with me. Did you think we were going to float off-planet?” There was a whole other conversation happening under whatever this one was.

 

“I had to go. Who’d want to stay in a place like that?”

 

“The Empire’s never been kind to anyone.”

 

“I don’t care how it’s been to anyone. I just know what it’s been for me.”

 

Skywalker voice, sharp again, said, “Ugo!”

 

Han twisted to see the little girl paused halfway between Skywalker and Han. She blinked at Han but still didn’t speak. Instead, she shuffled her feet as if undecided.

 

“Ugo,” Skywalker repeated firmly. “Come back here and wait for the captain to finish.”

 

She looked at Meesk and then Skywalker.

 

Ugo took three steps back, but she still hovered between them. In fact, with Meesk by the corridor and Ugo between Skywalker and Han, it looked like Skywalker was surrounded.

 

By kids.

 

Han remembered the playing cards whipping through the air. He remembered the invisible pressure holding him to the wall when Skywalker first boarded and the near certainty that he was going to die as soon as Starkiller was done playing games. It was all the freaky - the damn _Force_ \- druk that was putting Han on edge. He let a hand drift to his blaster. He wasn’t even pretending to look for that food anymore, but nobody behind him was pretending to have a polite conversation either.

 

Skywalker still sat there, his arms spread over the back of the seat, posture open and faux relaxed. Meesk stood by the door, hands in his pockets, lips quirked up in a smile. Ugo was shifting from foot to foot..

 

Han stood and waved the food in the air. “Found something,” he called out.

 

Meesk gave him attention long enough for Han to see the disdain hidden under all the amusement.

 

_‘Yeah, I don’t like you either, kid.’_

 

It was long enough that Skywalker was off his ass and over the table before Meesk realized the real game had started. He pulled out a knife - Han’s knife from his bed, of course it was - and attacked.

 

Han took a step forward, hand firmly on his blaster but not pulling. Not yet. Before he could decide if Skywalker had his problem handled, he was pushed back. It wasn’t the all-over pressure of Skywalker’s push. It was just a solid shove that sent him to the floor. He cursed and got back up. Then, his blaster was yanked out of its holster. It spun through the air and slid to the floor by Ugo.

 

Ugo, whose head kept frantically flying from the fight in the other room and then to Han.

 

“How about you give me that back?” Han asked. He tried to move forward again, hands out to the side in a non-threatening pose. Naturally, he just got shoved again, landing on his back and cursing at the roof.

 

He got up for a second time. He didn’t get up all the way because that would probably get him knocked back down. Instead, he crouched, one hand raised to indicate peace. His other hand discreetly slid along the floor until he found the snack he’d been grabbing.

 

He threw the whole box right at the kid’s head.

 

Ugo flinched and the box stopped a foot in front of her but Han was already diving forward to catch her around the waist and lift her off her feet. The snack box dropped. Han got ready for his hands to catch on fire or whatever other crazy thing the kid was gonna do next. But, thankfully, there were no strange Force tricks heading his way. There was just a frantic kid wriggling in his arms and shoving elbows and heels into his chest and thighs. “Hold still! You’re fine! It’s fine!” Han held her tighter to his chest. He could practically feel the little bruises forming on his body.

 

The girl was still barely making a sound, just grunting and hissing.

 

“Right back at you.”

 

Now that he had his own problem pretty much dealt with, he looked to the other temporary guests and found that fight still going.

 

Meesk had skills with the knife. He darted in quick and deadly and slipped away just as proficiently. The problem was that Skywalker was faster and smoother and any swing that got close just got knocked away with that metal arm, hard enough that Meesk hissed and had to pull the knife into his other hand. Skywalker watched Meesk carefully but didn’t push or grab him.

 

“Stop playing around,” Han snapped.

 

His interruption - and the fact he had the wriggling weequay subdued - only aggravated Meesk. The kid threw his hands out in front of him. Unlike with little Ugo, Han could feel the overwhelming strength of that push without even being the target of it. A shockwave passed through half the hold and the cards shot off the table. Ugo stopped her squirming and seemed to instead shrink against Han’s chest.

 

Skywalker tumbled over the table, hit the seat, and rolled off the floor. Meesk took full advantage of the moment.

 

He shot forward, knife going first and aimed straight for Skywalker’s face.

 

Skywalker threw his arm up and the knife went in. There was no flinch but just a ring of metal scraping against metal. Using the same arm, he tossed Meesk off him and right over the table. He got up with no concern for the knife still jutting out of his arm.

 

“That was pretty good,” Skywalker said as Meesk scrambled back up. “Here’s mine.”

 

While Han could feel the power with Meesk, he only saw the results with Skywalker. He raised one hand. Meesk was lifted off his feet. He flew across the hold toward Skywalker, passed him, and slammed into the opposite wall. Han cringed at the loud bang as his body hit the bulkhead.

 

The kid crumpled, unconscious but breathing.

 

“Ouch,” Han muttered. The kid in his arms shrunk a little more and Han relaxed his grip until it was more of a carry than a restraint.

 

Skywalker stared at the corridor, feet spread shoulder-width apart. “Are you going to hide back there?” he called out. “Come on. You don't have to be _scared_?” He drawled the last word.

 

Mary took a few quick steps out of the hall, eyes blazing. “I’m not scared of you.”

 

Skywalker smirked. “Of course you’re not. . You’re tougher than Meesk, aren’t you? Smarter?” She raised her chin a little, prideful but still glaring. She looked pointedly at the blade stuck in his arm. She showed a lot of interest and no concern. “You got hurt?”

 

Skywalker reached down, got a good grip on the handle, and yanked the weapon out without flinching. There was no blood anywhere on him despite dodging a blade for a few minutes. No scratches or cuts. Han doubted there’d even be a bruise where he could see.

 

Skywalker flipped the blade in his hand, showing as much proficiency as Meesk had. “What was the plan, Mary? What foolish idea did Meesk have?”

 

Mary spared one cold look at Meesk’s unconscious body.

 

“He wanted to steal the ship. Take off on our own. I told him it wouldn’t work.”

 

“Why come with me anyway?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “We didn’t want to leave with you. We just wanted to _leave_.” Her expression darkened. “Do you know what it was like there?”

 

Anakin leaned against the table and crossed his arms. “You could tell us.”

 

“Come on, kid. We’re trying help.” Han offered. She gave him the most unimpressed look he’d ever gotten in his life. It went right past thinking him an idiot and right to thinking him an insect. It was remarkably similar to the look of Meesk.

 

She didn't answer.

 

Skywalker, however, gave him a raised eyebrow that had him backtracking. “ _He’s_ trying to help you, I mean. Talk to him.”

 

She crossed her arms, chin jutting out and mouth firmly closed. If Han forgot about the freaky powers, she was like plenty of other hard-headed teens Han knew growing up.

 

“Take Ugo back,” Skywalker ordered.

 

There was another 20 second standoff before she spared Meesk one more look and decided to play nice.

 

She directed Ugo with one finger. “Let's go, skug.”

 

“Why is everyone on this ship so cute?” said Han, so sarcastic that even Ugo twisted her head to look at him. Sighing, Han let the kid drop to the ground and she darted toward Mary. When she tried to grab for Mary’s hand, Mary yanked it away.

 

“Kid!” They both stopped and turned. Han reached for the abandoned box of food. He shook it. “I didn’t go searching for this for nothing.” He threw it, lighter this time, at Ugo. The kid caught it, hugged it to her chest and jogged out of the room with Mary behind her.

 

After they left, Skywalker started tugging on his glove.

 

“I’m guessing there’s no sensors in that arm,” said Han. “Lucky you.”

 

“I got a little feeling in the hand,” Anakin corrected. He tugged his sleeve high enough to get a look at the damage near his elbow. There was whining when he twisted and turned the arm. “Nothing too bad. I’ll fix it later. Do you have restraints?”

 

Han did, in fact, have restraints. They were even donated by the Empire - if sticking them on Han and then having Han escape custody counted as a proper donation. Skywalker added a blindfold, explaining, “It doesn't look like he's got the training to do it blind,” as if that made any sense.

 

“I’m still figuring out how you think you’re gonna handle a crazy kid that wants to kill you. I’m talking about Mary, by the way.”

 

Anakin was arranging the teen on the floor. He’d taken off his heavy black coat and fit it under Meesk’s head. Without the cloak, Han could see the lightsaber swinging at his waist.

 

He remembered Qi’ra once swinging her stick so hard that his cracked in half and she pushed him down and pressed her stick into his throat. As kids, he thought she’d be the Jedi while he was just the clone trooper.

 

Skywalker broke into his thoughts. “You mean how _we're_ gonna do it?”

 

Han shook his head, irritated. “Why me? And that's not a rhetorical question. You were watching me. You picked me for this. Why?”

 

“A friend said you could be trusted not to try bargaining me and the kids for the money.”

 

That… hadn't even occurred to Han. The choice was between losing his ship to Skywalker or helping. Helping the Empire catch Anakin Skywalker was - it just wasn’t what you did.

 

Shaking that thought away, he asked, “What friend?”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“What. Friend.”

 

Skywalker was on his knees by an unconscious kid but was looking concerned about Han. “Her name’s Qi’ra.”

 

Han sucked in breath and went over that comment a million times, wondering if he’d heard it wrong, if his memories had just screwed with his brain too much.

 

But nope. Qi'ra. 

 

He focused on the part he could talk about: “Starkiller really does work for Crimson Dawn then.”

 

Skywalker spoke carefully, “Crimson Dawn is only half of what you think it is but, yeah, I’ve worked with them. With Qi’ra mostly. Me and the other guy never got along.”

 

Han hadn’t liked Vos either.

 

Han jerked his head toward the kid. “I've noticed you're not answering. What's gonna happen to the crazy one?”

 

“The people I’m sending him to have some experience with brainwashing, mindhealing. They’ll work with him.”

 

“And if he doesn’t want to work with them?”

 

“They’ll shoot him in the head,” said Skywalker. He placed his hand on the kid’s forehead, closed his eyes, and did something. Whatever it was ended a minute later when he nodded, satisfied. “The fight didn’t do him too much damage, and I think I can keep him asleep for the rest of the ride.”

 

Han was still stuck on that first sentence. “Just shoot him in the head, huh? Working for Crimson Dawn… Shooting the kids you rescue...I haven't met that many heroes, but I'd still bet you're the weirdest one.”

 

Skywalker stood up. “It's a worst case scenario,” he said, “but we'll figure it out, won't we?”

 

Han wanted to say no if only because Skywalker clearly expected him to say yes. But Han wasn’t looking to shoot any kids in the head and he’d worked with people much worse than Skywalker. “Did Qi’ra tell you about the sticks?” he asked, abruptly. It was a stupid question. “Forget that. Never mind.”

 

“She told me she always won,” Skywalker answered.

 

Han frowned. “Not always. I won my fair share.”

 

“She said you’d be a terrible Jedi - .”

 

“Hey now!”

 

“- but that she always believed in you more than me.”

 

Han blew out a breath. Of course she did. That woman made no sense. None at all. Skywalker didn’t either, but at least he was there to say that to. “Fine. For the next four hours, there's a ‘we.’ You happy, Skywalker?”

 

“Anakin,” he corrected. He patted Han on the shoulder. “I'm gonna check on the other two. Watch the baby.”

 

“Watch the baby?” He stared at the skinny, soft-spoken brat that wanted to kill them. “Four more hours,” he promised.

 

\---

**4 Hours Later**

 

“Oh, sweetheeaaarrrt,” Han yelled four hours later. “One of the kids ran away.”

 

On the upside, the air battle was a good enough distraction that the lone escape pod was probably gonna reach the planet without being bothered. On the downside, they were in the space battle because Naboo went into full blown rebellion and they'd dropped out of hyperspace right in time to get shot at. Family wasn’t supposed to abandon each other in their time of need - or something like that.

 

“I noticed,” Anakin answered in his ear. He was dealing with the guns and doing a fairly good job at it. He shot down someone on their tail. “Don't worry about it. She's the smart one. She'll make it.”

 

“Mary, huh? I thought it’d be Meesk.”

 

“He wouldn't leave. He likes us too much.”

 

He’d also been moved to a bunk and was still sleeping off his homicidal urges.

 

“Chewie?”

 

“He's with Imperial forces. They would have gotten more warning about this than we did. They'll head to the secondary meeting point.”

 

“Where's that?”

 

“Tatooine.”

 

“That dustbucket... At least it's not far.”

 

They got hit twice in quick succession and Anakin let out a string of curse words. “Do you want me to fly?”

 

“Just shoot!”

 

They escaped.

 

(So did Mary. She stumbled out of an escape pod and, despite the chaos, realized quickly that it was the most beautiful planet she’d ever seen.)

 

**\---**

**8 Hours Later**

 

“You great big lug,” Han called out. Chewie stood, roaring. He grabbed Han in a hug, lifting him off the ground. Han tried to talk through all the hair. “Oh, sure, you're happy to - pfft - see me.”

 

Chewie let him drop.

 

“Playing sabacc with bucketheads! I thought you were under arrest!”

 

Chewie’s next words made Han’s mouth drop open. “Old friends?!”

 

Behind Chewie, an older trooper with an Imperial logo tattooed on his head saluted to a hooded Anakin Skywalker. Anakin clasped his hand. His other hand went to the armored shoulder.

 

The trooper stood straighter, prouder, as they talked.

 

(“My men,” Anakin explained later. “The Emperor can delude himself all he wants. Those will always be my men.”)

 

**\---**

**12 Hours Later**

 

Anakin's friend, Kitster, ducked out of the line of fire. He held Ugo close to his chest. The kid wrapped arms and legs around him, trembling. The troopers Han and Anakin actually liked had left over an hour before and the ones they definitely didn't like had taken a look at Anakin in the full Starkiller outfit and tried to take him in for the murder of a high-ranking Imperial officer.

 

“I really did kill him,” Anakin told him, unashamed.

 

They created a diversion while Kitster crawled out, Ugo still clinging like her life depended on it. Kitster helped kids, the ones enslaved and the ones likely to be enslaved because no one would bother saving some scrumrats. Han liked him. He’d do good by Ugo.

 

(Ugo would one day become a respectable pirate.)

 

\--

**(About) 4 Weeks Later**

 

Meesk had graduated to what Han called the ‘Mary Level.’ He glared but did not try to kill them. They even developed a working relationship where Han told him to load things in the ship and he did it. But, when they stopped to drop him off, he backed away from the approaching Togruta and Mirialan.

 

Han knew better than to touch, but he did lean a little closer to whisper. “Relax, kid. I’d bet money on them being nicer than Anakin.”

 

“Who asked you?” Meesk snapped.

 

Han was a little glad to see him go.

 

What bugged him more was when Anakin asked the Togruta - Fulcrum, they said - about a starship he could steal.

 

“You jumping ship?” Han asked.

 

Anakin cocked his head. “Just keeping my word, captain. That’s the last of the kids.” He gestured to where Meesk and Mirialan were have a conversation while standing five feet apart and not making eye contact. “That means you don’t have to deal with me anymore.”

 

Han nodded. “Huh...I guess if you want…”

 

Fulcrum kicked Anakin lightly in the ankle and whispered something. Anakin whispered back. The whispering got more forceful and gradually increased volume until Han pretty clearly heard, “You’re being an idiot again, Master. We talked about this.”

 

“Should I go?” Han wondered.

 

“No,” Anakin and Fulcrum said in unison.

 

Anakin shifted his foot when the woman tried to kick him again. “I’m going to break out some slaves from a mining facility next.”

 

Han stared.

 

Fulcrum smiled and said, leadingly, “This is really important to my Master.”

 

Now, Anakin kicked her. From the way she cursed and punched at his arm, it wasn’t a light kick.

 

Han could feel Chewie watching him. The big guy would follow him anywhere. He’d continue smuggling spice until Han died of old age. He’d probably go break out some slaves with more enthusiasm, but he’d be happy all the same. Skywalker clearly wouldn’t. He wanted to blow up bases, free slaves, and escape Imperial ships on the regular. He didn’t have much choice in that because the last four weeks had taught Han that the Imperials wanted him _badly_.

 

“You gonna do it by yourself?” Han asked.

 

Anakin shook his head. “I have some friends who are willing to back me up. Independent units.”

 

“It’s not an official Rebel mission,” Fulcrum said, sounding regretful.

 

“Well, he’s not really part of the Rebellion,” said Han, remembering that. He shrugged. “Why not? I’m not looking to join the Rebellion but some random chaos is good for people, you know. Gets your blood pumping.”

 

Fulcrum elbowed Anakin with a hilariously loud whisper: “He’s perfect.”

 

Anakin kicked her again - and then he got back on the Falcon

(Chewie had taken his seat back, but Anakin often hovered behind Han’s chair while they flew and Han did let him touch some things - four months later. Anakin really started touching things in the first week, but Han didn’t need to know that.)

 

\---

**4 Years Later**

 

“Help me, Anakin Skywalker. You’re my only hope.”

 

The recording ended and the room was silent. The little droid - R2 - pushed forward into Anakin’s leg, just a small tap that looked like comfort. “How long ago did you receive it?” Anakin asked. His arms were crossed and his chin down by his chest. He looked cold.

 

Fulcrum - Ahsoka, Han now knew - answered, “Last night. This is a priority for the Rebellion, you know. You have support.” She studied his face. “Not that it would stop you if you didn’t.”

 

He nodded. “Get what the Rebellion needs off R2. He’ll be coming with me. I’ll contact my men. Find out where they’re keeping her.”

 

With that, he walked right out of the little hut. Han raised his hands, confused and frustrated. “Is anyone gonna tell me who that was?” he demanded.

 

Ahsoka’s arms were crossed too, her shoulders hunched. “That was Princess Leia Organa.”

 

Han made a circular motion with his hands.

 

Ahsoka shook her head. “Ask him, Han. Not me.”

 

“I’ll do that,” Han spun and followed Anakin’s trail, which was really just outside and around the back of the hut. He was faced away from Han, his shoulder pressed up against the hut and his head still down.

 

“Hero,” he said. Han came around to see his face. He felt the anger drain out of him at the sight.

 

Anakin was in tears.

 

Han had seen tears before, had even seen tears fall as he talked about the fall of the Jedi and the death of Obi-Wan Kenobi. They’d gotten drunk and Anakin had finished by face-planting in Han’s lap. Chewie carried them to the same bed and Han drunkenly patted his cheek for the rest of the night.

 

The difference was that he knew what those tears were all about. He knew _why_.

 

“You gonna tell me?” Han asked. Anakin closed his eyes and breathed in. Han stepped forward, placed their foreheads together and pleaded, “Please just tell me.”

 

Anakin said, “Leia is my daughter.”

 

And some Rebel and artist named Luke Naberrie was his son, Han found out, the two of them separated and hidden from the Empire with such attention to detail that nobody suspected a thing.

 

“You’re somebody’s dad,” Han said. He worked this information into everything else he’d learned about Anakin in years and countless insane missions. “I’m like a stepfather,” he breathed. He wrinkled his nose.

 

“Wait. You're what?”

 

Han leaned in and kissed him like he’d wanted to do for at least a year. (Chewie said it was the whole four.) He then pulled back, “Is this okay?”

 

“You always have horrible timing but…”

 

“Yeah, yeah, and you’re always late.” He kissed him again. A peck this time. He then clapped his hands together. “Alright. You call some of your friends. I’ll call your other friends. We’ll go save the kid.” He pointed in Anakin’s face and firmly said, “We _will_ save the kid.”

 

Anakin snorted. “Of course we will.” He wiped at his face and straightened his shoulders. “We have the fastest ship in the galaxy, the Rebellion backing us up, and any troop worth anything in the 501st is mine.”

 

“Are you ever going to tell me how you managed that?”

 

“To be honest, _I_ don’t even know how I managed that.”

 

(They did save the kid. The rest - the planet, the Rebellion, the army of force-sensitive kids and their wrinkly Master - was another story.)

  
  



End file.
